


Sarah: Plain and in Pieces

by Nikola_Nial_Keheley



Category: Doctor Who, Sarah Plain and Tall, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, I Don't Even Know, I blame college, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Possible killing of beloved children's book character, Still really new at this, Tags May Change, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikola_Nial_Keheley/pseuds/Nikola_Nial_Keheley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah describes herself in two ways: Plain and Tall. She has begun a new chapter of her life by moving West to join a family... but things are not as they seem. The Doctor stumbles in and brings Sherlock and John who decide to go along as this is all just a crazy hallucination, obviously (but not really).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my cohorts and friends [you know who you are]; we were driven crazy by a mind numbing situation (Rose! *shakes fits to the heavens*) and this is the result. I only wish we could somehow use this story to make back the tuition wasted on that class.*  
> *I can lay no claim to the characters represented in this story. Sherlock Holmes is a creation of the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Doctor Who and Sherlock belong to the BBC, and Sarah: Plain and Tall is a beloved children’s book written by Patricia MacLachlan which should never be read aloud to college students as though they are in second grade. The film Sarah: Plain and Tall is owned by Hallmark and should follow the same rule mentioned about the book. No money is being made from this story; it is simply for therapy reasons and to possibly be enjoyed by others if it’s good enough. Sorry my friends we are still broke college students.

_1862: Maine, United States of America_

“Wanted: a strong and good woman to be wife and mother and help around a farm. If interested write…” the advertisement continued by providing an address and a name: Jacob.

Sarah sat at the worn oak kitchen table of her brother’s Maine house. The window was open and the aroma of salt water and cries of the gulls wafted through it. The late afternoon beams of sunlight danced on the powder blue walls; Sarah bit her lip. She never imagined that she would be considering answering an advertisement to be the bride of a farmer in the Midwest. Sure Sarah had always loved animals and children, but her heart clung to Maine where her brother, aunts, and the sea were. Seal, Sarah’s charcoal gray cat rubbed up against her leg, meowing softly.

“What are we going to do Seal?” Sighed Sarah as she picked up the dark feline and walked over to the window. The cat purred happily as Sarah absentmindedly stroked his head. From the window Sarah had a clear view of the white sand beach. She thought of her brother as she watched the waves come in and out. Sarah was thrilled that he was getting married, but knowing that William’s house could no longer be her home caused her a deep pain. She realized that her brother was starting a new chapter in his life; one with a new wife and soon to follow children.

Sarah’s thoughts were interrupted by a sound; she looked down to find Seal examining her expectantly with large eyes. Sarah chuckled to herself as she noticed that her hand had stopped stroking his head. She scratched him behind the ear as a thought came into her head. Perhaps it was time for her to start the next chapter in her life as well.  
“Well, it could not possibly hurt to write showing interest, now could it Seal?” As if to answer the mouser jumped from her arms to the counter. Sarah smiled slightly at him while she walked back over to the table and pulled one of the sturdy backed chairs out and sat down. Putting her pen to paper she wrote a quick but eloquent letter stating that she was interested in the position and inquiring if there was any eversion to cats, as she had one. Sarah sealed the letter in an envelope and quilled the address from the add on its front. She sighed lightly, feeling like somehow what she was doing was right.

Two months later Sarah found herself sitting in the same chair. She had been corresponding with the Midwestern family for some time, and now these letters were littered all around the circular surface. She smiled as she picked up a letter from the little boy, Caleb, and read it over again. He seemed so lonely and yet so full of questions. She chuckled when she came to his inquiry about if she snored. When she had written him back Sarah had felt unable to answer the question as she really had no idea, but apparently Caleb was happy with her response. She felt a sting in her chest as she thought about the young boy growing up without knowing his mother. Perhaps she was meant to fill that place for both this dear boy and his older sister Anna. Of course that would mean leaving William, her aunts, the sea and everything else which was familiar to her behind. Except for Seal she reminded herself; the cat was hers and she would not leave him behind for the world.  
Sarah shook her head to clear these thoughts from it. She put down the child’s letter and picked up the newest one from his father. Jacob seemed level headed and kind; it struck Sarah as strange that he had to advertise to find a wife. Surely he was capable of finding one in the traditional manner? Sarah ran a hand through her dirty blonde hair, perhaps there were not as many women of marrying quality in the Westward states. Many people who lived out there were separated by miles of land from their nearest neighbor, which must make it difficult to court a woman, especially with two dependent children. As these thoughts sailed through her head Sarah skimmed the letter until her eyes fell on the last section. Jacob had asked her to come out to visit the family on their farm. This was the cause of Sarah’s current trepidation. Agreeing to come out to the farm brought her one step closer to her possible future, but also away from her family. Sarah watched as Seal’s gray foreleg reached up from a parallel chair to paw at the corner of one of the letters. She smiled at the simple joy the cat seemed to find in the action. Suddenly a thought struck Sarah. She had been invited to visit; agreeing to come did not mean that she agreed to stay.

With this in mind she reached for a crisp piece of paper and relocated the letters until she found her pen. She scribbled a response agreeing to come and visit. She folded the letter and began to place it in the envelope, but pulled it back out again. She penned one more sentence in which she gave a description of what she would be wearing and of her appearance. She smiled at the words “plain and tall” because it was such an apt portrayal. She then placed the letter in the already endorsed envelope and glued down the flap to seal it.

Little did Sarah know that in sealing that letter she had sealed her own fate.


	2. Chapter 2

_1862: Kansas, United States Of America_

Anna surveyed the wind as it crossed the tall fields of golden grass. She counted the seconds until it would reach her at her perch on the steps on the family’s front porch. The wind softly caressed the stalks bending them to its will as it pushed onwards towards her. “One, two, three, four…” the warm gust nudged itself against her, playing with one of her brown pigtail braids and pushing her loose pink dress against her abdomen. Although the whole scene sung of summer Anna could not suppress a shiver which over took her entire body at the wind’s embrace. Her mind had unintentionally jumped ahead to the ever approaching winter with its cold less welcoming blasts of air.

Until recently Anna thought that they may be alone for the winter, with only her to sustain her Papa and young brother Caleb. While she would do anything to help her family Anna was not ready to become the woman of the house and take on all the responsibilities which came with the role. She felt a sudden pang of guilt knowing that The Giver would not be pleased that she felt this way, but Anna could not help it. She was only ten years old after all, had barely begun to live her life. It did not seem fair that she would have to make such a sacrifice at such an age. Anna pushed the idea away from her forethought locking it into the chest hidden in the back of her mind; the chest where she stored away all of her troubling thoughts, and was a mirror image of the one Papa used in the house to do the same. Instead she focused her eyes on the long winding dirt road which brought closer to her their fast approaching visitor, and Anna’s hope for a continued childhood.

_2016: London, England_

  
If you were to ask Doctor John Watson he would say that Sherlock Holmes was acting extremely strange. Mycroft had called them in to work on a case of a possible drugging of one Mrs. Isadora Persano which had currently lead to a bought of unending insanity. John had walked in with that week’s shopping during the middle of Mycroft’s proposal (or perhaps assignment would be a better word? John Watson felt it was more accurate) of the case. At first Sherlock had refused (this was of course very usual of the consulting detective), but John could see from the masterfully hidden twinkle in his flat mate’s eye that this was just to keep up appearances with his brother. New Scotland Yard had been unexpectedly competent in the last few weeks and Sherlock had been complaining incessantly about his boredom. The good doctor was afraid that if something did not turn up soon Mrs. Hudson would have more to complain about then the yellow smiley face dotted with bullet holes on the wall. So while he had done his best to look begrudged at the sight of the elder Holmes he had secretly thanked the heavens for his presence.

After a quick nod to the two tense men stationed in the living room John had gone into kitchen to put on the tea kettle and secretly listen to the conversational judo which continued in the adjoining room.

“Sherlock I can tell you are interested in the case. Your fingers have not come to a rest since I first mentioned it. Why must you be so quarrelsome? I am doing you a favor.”

“A favor?! You’re doing me a favor?” The younger man jumped out of his chair and began to pace the room with a forced chuckle. John sighed, the way Sherlock had been pacing these last few days he was surprised there was not a hole worn in the floor.

“I will admit the case has some interesting points no doubt, and the fact that you brought it to me means that either you are unable to reach an answer on your own accord, or fear the leg work such a case has to offer. I assume it is the latter option of course as we both know the British Government is more intelligent,” Sherlock threw air quotes about the room with his hands while flashing a steely gaze at his older brother “and much more sloth like than myself. Why, you even had a car drop you around the corner so it would seem that you are getting in the daily exercise needed to shed that extra weight, but we both know the truth don’t we brother dear? You hate going for strolls in the park, and love your sweets too much to ever work off that stomach you picked up at your desk job.” With that Sherlock landed with a huff back into his chair sending the ends of his light weight dressing gown billowing out from the displaced air of his quick descent.

John’s ear’s ached from the strain as they waited for the other brother to speak. After what seemed like an eternity (but was really probably about four seconds, John speculated afterwards) he heard the exasperated intake of the other Holmes. “Yes, Sherlock we all know I am struggling with my weight. As I am sure you noticed there were not any parking spots available on Backer Street so my car parked around the corner, and I suppose I should have checked my suit for left over crumbs as I entered your door, but that is beside the point. I am a very busy man little brother and I simply do not have the time to look into this incident. You however, are board to you wit’s end,” Mycroft stopped here to glance up at the yellow smiley face “and I’m sure your landlady wouldn’t mind if you stopped work on your continued masterpiece. Three new bullet holes I see.” his eyes landed back on his brother who even though he had sat down had never stopped fidgeting. “I’ll just leave this file here for you; the address and needed information are within. Good day brother.” “Doctor Watson.” He added with a curt nod as he let himself out of the apartment.

The flat fell into silence, the only sound the fading footfalls of Mycroft Holmes as he descended the stairs, and finally shut the main door behind him. John could not help smiling to himself as he heard the papers in the folder flip at almost inhuman speed under his flat mate’s long precise fingers.

“Do we have time for tea? The kettle just came to a boil.” John had already begun to put the cups back into the cupboard being mindful not to knock over the jar of… what were those? Mice gallbladders? in the task. He was answered by a whirlwind of sound which could only be Sherlock Homes preparing himself to examine a crime scene. Tea would have to wait.

While these events might seem unusual to some Doctor John Watson did not find these actions on the part of the world’s only consulting detective strange, but what came afterword had his head spinning.

_1862: Kansas, United States of America_

  
Anna had been lost in thought when she suddenly became aware of the cloud of dust slowly rising in the distance. The sun was setting now and the fields she was staring at had taken on a purple tone. The young girl did not take notice in this though as she squinted her eyes and tried unsuccessfully to shield them against the sun with her small rough hand. Finally she could make out the shape of their wagon in the distance pulled by the two strong horses, and carrying an unknown figure clad in a yellow dress sitting next to the shape she knew well as Papa. The ten year old stood up to wipe away any dirt which may have been clinging to her dress; her neck and back snapped and popped and she absent mindedly wondered just how long she had been sitting in that position.

“Is that them?” Anna jumped and inwardly reprimanded herself; she had no reason to be nervous, not now. 'The Giver may be appeased by another.' she reminded herself.

“I don’t see who else it could be.” Anna answered the small voice which had spooked her earlier. “There isn’t anyone else around but us for miles. It has to be Papa… and Sarah.”  
A small hand found its way into Anna’s and she looked down at its owner. Folks were always saying that Anna took after her Papa, and if that were true then Caleb was the spitting image of their mother. His hair was the hue of the golden grass which surrounded their small farm, and his eyes were the green of the cow pond outback. As he stood there in his overalls Caleb must have felt his sister’s eyes upon him; he turned his upward to meet her’s and give her a smile. One dimple became visible on the left side of his face and if Anna had ever questioned it before she was certain now that if she tried really hard she could pull Mama’s face out of Caleb’s. She wanted to tell him this, but instead found her gaze wondering back out to the ever closer brown cloud.

Anna suddenly felt a weight in her stomach. She knew that this was how the world worked, and that The Giver would be pleased, but she could not help but feel guilt over what was to come, and over replacing Mama. Anna was thankful when she felt the young boy’s hand squeeze hers and anchor her back in the present. This was for Caleb and Papa after all she reminded herself. They needed love; more than what Anna could give on her own, or at least was ready to give at that time.

“Will she love us?” The small voice next to her sounded uncertain, fearful.

“Yes, of course she will love us. That is what Mama’s do isn’t it?” Anna comforted.

“Will she sing?” The voice was still weary, but had a ting of hope the young boy was unable to hide.

Anna felt the sudden chill shake her body once more, but this time it was not caused by an imagined burst of frozen air. No, this time it was brought about by a memory; a memory of her mother’s voice: lyrical, but frightened. Her last song before the giving. Anna rounded up this rouge memory and shoved it quickly into her memory chest, closing it tightly so nothing worse could get out.

“Yes,” Anna answered, somehow completely drained of any energy she had moments before. “Yes Caleb, Sarah will sing.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally going to start crossing over!

_2016: London, England_

After Mycroft left the flat the duo had sprung into action, running down the stairs and quickly hailing a cab. Once they were settled Sherlock Holmes quickly relayed the information his brother and the folder provided. Isadora Persano was the Admiral of a fleet in the Royal Navy; she had always been known to be strong in character and will, winning her respect amongst her male counterparts.  Last Friday the Admiral had come home, and had seemingly followed her normal routine; however the next morning she was nowhere to be found. After phoning her multiple times her personal assistant Ronald Myer had taken it upon himself to check on Persano. He found her curled in the far corner of her bedroom mumbling nonsense. She had been hospitalized ever since and had shown no signs of recovery to her former composure.      

 When they had arrived at the crime scene Sherlock nearly bounced up the front stairs. He and John had the whole place to themselves as the British government was trying to keep the whole thing hush-hush, and he was not going to waste this golden opportunity to relish in an untouched scene. John followed as the consulting detective scurried through each of the rooms. Sherlock had ducked and rummaged around the crime scene with his usual verbose quality before he reached the bedroom.  There he somehow took the investigation up a notch; he had inspected the floorboards, scanned her walls with his pocket magnifying glass, and had even been nose to the sheets of her rather expensive bed. The entire time he constantly muttered to himself at a speed and deep rumble which no other human being could possibly understand. Once again this was all very normal for the self-proclaimed sociopath.  

John left his flat mate to his own devises; he really could not hurt anything, and if he did its owner probably would not care in her current state. The doctor returned to the sitting room to examine the personal photos on display; perhaps one of the images held someone who could help unravel their current mystery. He found himself drawn to an image of Isadora in her dress blues. The photo held the face of a young girl maybe eighteen, and from the look of her uniform she was only a cadet when it was taken. He felt a pang of sadness knowing that this young confident looking woman was currently trapped in a sea of madness.  

“Worrying about her is not going to help her John” explained the well-known baritone voice from behind the doctor. In the past John may have become angry at his friend’s comment, but he had grown to know the other man better than that since then, and knew that in his mind he was speaking the truth.

“Then what can I do to help her?” The question slipped out of his mouth as he turned about face to find his flat mate. Sherlock’s gray eyes fluttered over John, taking in every nuance and seeming to read the older man’s mind.

He noticed that John obviously felt a connected to the admiral. They had both joined up young, and moved quickly throughout the ranks of their respective branches. His flat mate had been observing a picture of the woman in her younger days. Seeing what she was and the thought of what she must be going through now was troubling him.  John had a deep well of compassion; this woman had clearly been allowed to delve into that.

“You will do whatever is necessary to help her?”

“Of course!”

“Well then we best be off to Backer Street; I have all of the data I can collect from here.”

With that Sherlock Holmes quickly strolled out the door leaving a discombobulated doctor Watson to catch up. When they arrived back at the flat John went directly to the bathroom. He turned on the tap and let the cool water run through his hands before he splashed it onto his face. He had been to many crime scenes in his years of knowing the consulting detective; most were gory and odious. In comparison Admiral Isadora Persano’s apartment had been a cake walk in that respect, but John was having trouble removing the image of the young girl from his mind.

 When he finally returned to the living room he was surprised to find Sherlock sprawled out on the couch with a cup of tea in hand; casually flipping through the channels on the telly. He must have noticed his flat mate enter, because he motioned to the table with his head; never taking his eyes off the screen. John turned his eyes to the kitchen to find another cup of steaming tea and a piece of toast covered in jam. John was shocked. He turned back to his rather listless looking friend who casually took a sip of his tea. Sherlock did not show any signs of being sick, but this was rather out of character for him. This was very strange indeed for Sherlock Holmes.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” Came the uninterested reply.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes.” He took another sip out of his cup.

“Well, it’s just that you made tea… and toast. I didn’t even know you knew how to use the toaster.” On that thought John quickly scanned the kitchen for the electronic expecting to see a pile of smoldering plastic but finding it in relatively good health.

“Yes well I have many hidden talents,” came the quick retort. There was a moment of silence before the reclining man continued “You said you wanted to help Mrs. Persano. If you truly wish to aid her you will need to eat that.”

John could not believe this. Had Sherlock actually made him a meal out of concern for his health? He knew he must have been visibly shaken, but the man typically refused to get up and get his own phone, and now he had actually gone out of his way to make him… wait a moment. John suddenly remembered the case at Baskerville, the only other time Sherlock had made him anything to consume. John sniffed the tea; it was Earl Gray (his favorite) it gave off no off putting orders, and it seemed to be correctly colored.

“Sherlock…”

“Hugh, there is nothing in your tea John. Give me a little credit please.”

“Oh. Okay then.” John looked down hungrily at the nourishment in front of him. He had had a long day at the surgery and that was before stopping at the store and coming home only to run out on a case. To say he was hungry would be an understatement. He quickly picked up the toast and took a bite of it. The raspberry jam was rich and he happily crunched on it as he carried the plate and cuppa to his chair in the living room.

The two men sat in silence as the telly played colored shapes across the darkening room. Soon John’s plate and cup were empty and his stomach full. He sighed contently. Sherlock’s lips turned up into a small smile at the sound of his flat mate.

“Feel better?” The younger man asked the army doctor from his position on the couch. He had not moved save to occasionally click a button on the remote.

“Much. Um… thanks Sherlock. For the food I mean. It was well, really thoughtful of you.” The detective waved his hand through the air as though to chase off the comment of gratitude.

“Don’t mention it,” he responded. John smiled, closed his eyes, and laced his hands over his stomach. He felt so content to be there with his friend, no his best friend at that moment. “By the way, I drugged it.”

John’s eyes flew open. “WHAT?!” he spit.

“Your meal, I drugged it John.” Sherlock lifted his head off the arm of the couch locking emotionless gray eyes onto his flat mate’s wild blue ones. “Do try to keep up.”

In an instant John was on his feet gripping the lapels of Sherlock’s suit coat. “You drugged me?!” He shouted at the calm face in front of him.

“Problem?” Sherlock questioned, a bit of unhidden confusion in his voice. “I thought you wanted to help Admiral Isadora Persano. You said you would do anything, remember?”

John shoved the lanky man back down onto the couch and began to pace around the room. His right hand pinched the bridge of his nose, and he wondered if the beginning of this headache was caused by his rising blood pressure, or the unintentionally ingested drug.

“Not good?” came the voice from the couch.

“Not good?!” John was exasperated “Sherlock this is more than not good. You drugged me, and you lied about it.”

“I didn’t lie about it.”

“YES YOU DID! You said there was nothing in my tea!”

“There wasn’t,” came the nonchalant answer “it was in the jam.”

“In the…YOU. DRUGGED. MY. JAM?!”

“Obviously.”

“You drugged my jam.” The doctor said more to himself then to his flat mate. He suppressed the urge to laugh because it seemed insane at the moment. Insane…John took a deep breath trying to will the words to come from his mouth. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. “Sherlock, what did you drug me with?”

There was a long pause. “I’m not particularly sure yet,” came the deep rumble “I found it in the bottom of the empty glass on Persano’s night stand. It is a simple leap to assume that Isadora downed its contents before retiring to bed last night. I collected a sample to run this experiment while you were out of the room. … John? John you haven’t taken a breath in the last 5.3 seconds. Do stop the dramatics would you? It’s so ordinary.”

“Sherlock Holmes. You gave me a drug that has currently placed a woman in the hospital with insanity?” There was a bite to the army man’s voice.

“No John. I gave you a substance that could _possibly_ be an insanity inducing drug. Never draw conclusions before you have all the facts,” Sherlock waved his right pointer finger toward his fate mate with closed eyes “or else you end up shaping facts to fit your conclusions.”

“I think you’re missing the point mate,” the words left John’s throat in a sigh “friends don’t give their friends substances that could lead to their insanity.” John scrubbed his face with his hands “They… they don’t treat them like guinea pigs, run experiments on them.” For the first time in ages doctor Watson could see why people thought his flat mate was a sociopath.

When John finally removed his hands his vision fell back onto his flat mate. Sherlock was staring at him with an unwavering look of hurt in his eye. “John, I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you.” He explained sitting up “The kitchen sink had at least four other cups in residence; apparently the Navy does not require the same level of cleanliness as the Army.” He tried to give John a half smile to emphasize that this was meant to be a compliment, but it was met with an unusually cold glare. Sherlock cleared his throat seeing that he could not charm his way out of this “Anyway,” he continued “all of said glasses had remnants of this powder at their bottoms indicating that if this is what led to the Admiral’s lost grip on reality then its effects only took long term hold after multiple does were administered. With this knowledge I designed to test the substance on both of us…”

“Wait,” John interrupted “you took the drug too?”

“Yes John I took the substance as well. We only have the word of the idiots who work with Persano so I have no way of knowing her level of intelligence. Thus I needed to test the possible effects of the substance on subjects with average and above average intelligence. As we know that she was at least competent enough to rise to such a high rank you were the perfect average subject as you also climbed the ranks with relative ease; if she exceeded your abilities then I was the clear choice for a more intellectual subject.” “Oh you know what I mean,” he added as he saw John’s face contort from the off handed insult.

After a long pause where neither men made a noise John finally broke the silence “Well, I guess we’re both in for a wild ride then.” John forced out a chuckle, and each man gave the other a smile that did not reach their eyes; both were clearly nervous for what was to come. “Um, Sherlock…”

“Yes John?”

“Do you hear that…wheezing noise?” The room had suddenly filled with a rhythmic grinding, as some living machine was hyperventilating in the coat closet.

“Intriguing,” mumbled Sherlock; his eyes were fixed on something in the kitchen behind John. The army doctor turned around but was not prepared for what met his eyes. There standing next to the fridge was a blue police box straight out of the 1960’s.

“Oh yes, this will be a strange trip indeed,” John grumbled under his breath.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm not sure if people are reading this, but I enjoyed writing it so I'm posting another chapter. This was actually my first Sherlock story; it is surprising to see how much I've grown since I began. Anyway please enjoy.

 

_1862: Kanas, United States of America_

"Sumer is icumen in

lhude sing cuccu!

Groweth sed and bloweth med

and springst the wde nu.

Sing cuccu!

Awe bleteth after lomb

llouth after calve cu

bulluc sterteh, bucke verteth

murie sing cuccu!

Cuccu, cuccu, wel singes thu cuccu

me swik thu naver nu!"

"Sing it again Sarah!" Caleb's cheerful face peered up at the young woman lit by the glowing light of the setting sun as they enjoyed the cooling air on the front porch. Sarah happily returned the smile to the young child; when she had stepped off the train just a few short weeks ago she would have never imagined the she would feel so comfortable in such a short time.

The first thing to meet Sarah as she ventured off the locomotive was a cloud of dust. The western states were certainly much drier than her home in Main, and she was instantly struck with a feeling of intense anxiety. She did not belong here, this had been a mistake; a big mistake. She had been tempted to walk into the station and quickly buy a return ticket back to where she had come, but then she heard a voice.

"Sarah?" A masculine yet strangely soft voice called to her. Sarah closed her eyes and bit her lip; she was caught and there was no turning back now. The tall woman forced a smile onto her face, and turned to find its source. There standing before her was a sun browned man; he wore overalls and a straw hat over his dark brown hair. Sarah studied him momentarily but could only find one way to describe him. Normal. He looked completely and utterly common in every aspect and way.

"Iyah, I am Sarah. It is a pleasure to meet you Jacob." Sarah flashed a genuine smile at the man; it was nice to finally put a face to the person who had penned all of those letters.

"It is nice to meet you," there was a short pause before the denim clad man continued with the short sentence "as well Sarah. It seems you gave a very… appropriate description of yourself, although I am not sure… I would call you plain. You are very beautiful."

Sarah could not suppress a small chuckle at the man's compliment and strange speech pattern. It was almost charming the way that he spoke in short halting phrases; as though he was choosing each world with great care. Perhaps he was just as nervous about meeting her as she was to come to his acquaintance.

"We should get going." The man's statement broke through Sarah's current thought stream, "the children are… very excited to meet you." Oh yes the children! Sarah had almost forgotten in all of her nervousness that there were children waiting to meet her.

Sarah nodded her answer in return, before an idea crossed her mind. "I hope I am what you are expecting," she expressed aloud "it would be a shame to get the children's hopes up. I have never been a mother, and my own died when I was very young."

"Are you willing to… give them your love?" A look of concern passed through Jacob's eyes.

"Oh most certainly," Sarah quickly responded "I have all of the love in my heart to give them. I only lack the experience."

Upon hearing this Jacob's face softened; a genuine smile came to his lips. "Sarah… you are exactly what my children require." Sarah returned the smile and followed her new acquaintance willingly to his horse pulled wagon.

 

_2016: London, England_

Sherlock approached the box with intense interest. It seemed like a life time since he had used a hallucinogenic, but he did not recall the visions being so corporeal. He carefully stretched out his long arm and placed his hand against the hallucination. He had expected his figures to pass through the delusion, but instead the pads on his left hand were now resting on what felt to be wood. This was curious; somehow the drug was not only affecting his vision but his tactile receptacles as well.

"Fascinating" the detective breathed.

"Um, Sherlock? Is that a retired police box where the kitchen table is supposed to be?"

"No John" came the distant but conclusive answer "as you may recall we have both just taken what could be a hallucinogenic; based off our current data it would seem that it is very likely this substance has indeed caused the Admiral's recent state. What we are experiencing are the effects of said drug on our nervous systems, nothing more."

"Oh" John digested this information quickly. He was a doctor after all and had seen patients come in stoned, but had never experienced the effects of a drug first hand. He momentarily hoped that there would not be any drug testing in the hospital any time soon; he was not sure how he would explain this. John quickly shook the thought from his mind and tried to focus on the strange present. "So what do you see? Because right now it looks like you are touching an old piece of yard technology."

"I also see a police box."

"Wait, how could we see the same thing?" Our minds wouldn't come up with the same ideas."

Sherlock spun around from his current examination and gave his flat mate an exasperated sigh. "It seems the drug not only causes hallucinations but also renders the user excessively prone to suggestion. Obviously we have supplied each other with notions which would make our trips seem exceptionally similar. You mentioned seeing a police box so I also perceived a police box in front of me; however my perception is flawed. For instance the windows on the box are far too small to be an actual police box. This leads us to the simple conclusion that we are indeed hallucinating as this is not a real object."

John opened his mouth to explain that the windows also looked too small to him, and had long before Sherlock mentioned that fact, but closed it again when he thought better of it. He knew that in the past Sherlock had done extensive 'research' into the world of narcotics; if his friend said they were hallucinating then it must be true. Instead he watched as Sherlock circled the strange object now taking up residence in their kitchen. The detective was knocking on the walls and examining the paneling with his pocket magnifying glass. He had already made a lap around the blue vision and was beginning another when John suddenly drew in a breath.

"Sherlock" the army man gasped "the door is opening."

 

_1862: Kansas, United States of America_

The ride away from town had been quiet. Neither Jacob nor Sarah had spoken much after their first exchange. Sarah filled the time by taking in her current surroundings. The buildings which had already started off sparse were now indeed a rare sight. She was surprised to see that Jacob and his children seemed to be so distant from their closest neighbors. It was no wonder that Jacob had not found a wife when he was so far removed from society. After what seemed like an eternity of fields Jacob spoke; spooking Sarah.

"Up yonder... is the homestead. I can see the children. They are waiting… outside."

A few minutes later the wagon pulled up outside the quaint little house. It was made of logs stacked upon one another and fit together at the corners. The cracks were filled with mud to keep the wind out during the winter. It was similar to the other houses Sarah had seen on her way there.

"Sarah!" Before the young woman could stand from her place on the wagon she was tackled by a young giggling child.

"Why hello there" Sarah exclaimed with a surprised chuckle "You must be Caleb; I am so happy to finally meet you!"

"I'm happy to meet you too," Caleb supplied with exuberance; the boy then launched into a series of questions to which Sarah supplied the answers to the best of her ability. She did not know how but she found the child had nestled himself onto her lap; Sarah smiled at this realization. Maybe she was fit for the role of mother after all.

As the boy babbled on Sarah lifted her eyes and allowed them to drift over to the older of the two children. Anna was examining her with a strange mix of sadness and yearning. The girl seemed to feel another's eyes on her and quickly locked gazes with Sarah. She supplied a smile, but Sarah noticed that it did not reach the ten year old's eyes; it was polite but not happy.

'The poor girl,' Sarah thought to herself 'I must seem like such an intruder to her, but she loves her brother and wants him to be happy.' Sarah nodded an understanding towards the young girl. Sarah had no intention of replacing her mother, and she wanted Anna to understand that fact. The girl did not seem to comprehend the gesture, but nodded back nonetheless.

"Do you want to come inside?" Sarah's eyes were drawn back down to the child in her arms.

"Of course, I would love to come inside." The boy smiled happily and slid off her lap grabbing Sarah's hand in the process so he could lead her through the door of the small house. They passed Anna who had stepped to the side to allow Papa, Caleb and Sarah into the house.

Anna stayed on the porch, but shut the door closing her off from the rest of the group. She took a breath to steady herself as she examined the wood patterns on the planks beneath her feet. Anna liked Sarah, and knew that she would be willing to give of herself when the time came, but she could not help but feel dread collecting in the pit of her stomach. After a few moments Anna decided she should rejoin the assembly inside. She began to push the door open when she suddenly felt eyes upon her; Anna turned around quickly. Papa was always saying The Giver was watching, but Anna had not seen The Giver since that dreadful night. She desperately wished to see her again, but as the girl scanned the horizon The Giver was nowhere in sight. For a moment Anna thought she saw a man standing on the closest hill. He was too clean, had short dark hair, and was attired in an odd suit and long oatmeal colored coat. Anna could feel his eyes drilling into her; they were heavy with anger. Anna gasped at the sudden on slot and fell to the ground shuddering. When she looked up a moment later the stranger was gone; leaving Anna alone with her growing dread.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey People are actually reading this! Thank you so much :) Please enjoy.

_2016: London England_

The living space of 221b Baker Street was silent save the creak of the blue box's hinges. The two flat mates who were currently separated by the mysterious object locked eyes and had a silent conversation which mostly consisted of Sherlock shooting his best and most manic oh-something-new-how-exciting face only to be met by John's I'm-going-to-kill-you grimace. The stare down could have lasted for hours if it were not interrupted by an extremely excited utterance which took both men by unawares.

"Sherlock! John! Well isn't this a pleasant surprise!"

Four eyes fell onto the now completely open police box door, its current inhabitant being the source of the animated exclamation. There stood a man with a very prominent nose and matching chin; his hair gave the impression of whipped chocolate mousse which was leaning slightly to the left. It looked as though he had gotten dressed quickly, and for that matter in the dark. His brown pants were much too short for his long legs, allowing the tops of his laced leather shoes to show through unabashed. Said pants were held up with suspenders covering a simple white shirt which were both enclosed in a tweed jacket. The ensemble was finished off with a bright red bow tie.

"I never do know where the old girl will land me when I let her have complete control of our destination," The man blathered on as he lovingly stroked one of the wooden walls of the mysterious box "but I'm always happy to see familiar faces. Last time I gave her the rains we ended up in Quadrant 543.34 of the Cathardic Nebula. There's a little planet there; goes by the name of Nnallbneab," the stranger made an animated flapping action with his hands while saying the impossible to spell planet, "and the inhabitants are a rather friendly bunch… well they are until you attempt to expand their understanding of the universe. You see the atmosphere 'round their planet is so opaque that it is impossible to see anything in the sky above leading its people to believe that they were the only life forms in existence. Can you imagine? Never seeing any of the celestial bodies above their heads?!..."

The man kept talking seemingly oblivious to the confused look he was receiving from John Hamish Watson. To the outside observer his detective counterpart would have looked stoic, or even bored, but inside his head deductions and questions were bouncing around at a break neck speed. Many of which were contradicting in regards to one another; this was disconcerting and the consulting detective was becoming annoyed.

"So the fire under the spit was rising in intensity and I was beginning to feel the heat. Now let me tell you I have been in many close calls in my thousand years, but I have only been tied up with the intent of being roasted alive a handful of times and this…"

The floppy haired man was cut off by a deep rumbling noise which soon became recognizable as the chuckle of Sherlock Holmes. The sound, which originally had frightened Doctor Watson (as he had been transfixed by the hypnotic speed of the mystery man's speech), was soon duplicated by the medical man's own voice. Both man collapsed onto the ground in a state of delirious giggles as tears pulled at their eyes.

"I don't see what is so funny about my being roasted for BumsYnae!" The visitor said in a huff.

"Sherlock," John snorted "he's right. We shouldn't be laughing at him. It's rude."

"Really John? You are going to reprimand me for laughing at a hallucination? That hardly seems fair." Came Sherlock's chortled reply. At this both grown men locked eyes once more and dissolved back into sniggering puddles on the floor.

"Hallucination what are you going on about? It's me. The Doctor."

During The Doctor's rebuttal Sherlock had collected himself enough to pull his lankly body into a sitting position against the couch. He now turned to address the man standing defensively in the middle of the living room. "No you're not, John is the doctor," came the suddenly serious reply, "you are a figment of my imagination created by the ingestion of a powder that I can now say with near certainty has mind altering effects."

The Doctor stared at the detective flabbergasted for a minute before he turned to the jumper clad man still lying in a heap on the floor. By this time John had wrapped his arms around his middle in an attempt to stem the pain the laughing was causing his week old bruised ribs.

"John what's this? Has Sherlock started using again? Can you please explain to him that I am actually here, and that I am The Doctor?"

"Sorry mate, but I'm going to have to agree with Sherlock on this one. He drugged us both for an 'experiment' the sneaky git, and now we've both lost our grip on reality I'm afraid."

"Only momentarily John; as I've already said it seems that multiple doses are needed before it has any lasting effects."

"Yeah, that was more convincing before there was a man talking about imaginary planets parading around our living room."

Sherlock rolled his eyes in response. It was obvious his friend had never experimented with anything recreational before; this was not even the strangest trip the detective had ever been on. John shot his flat mate a glare easily reading into what the other man was thinking before turning back to the tweed clad visitor.

"As for who you are, I can't say I've ever met you whether you're a doctor or not."

The Doctor seemed to be perplexed by this and reached into his coat pulling out what looked to be a large metallic object. He nimbly pushed a button with his thumb causing it to emit a green glow and a high pitched buzzing noise. The cylindrical item was waved to and fro over both men as the clearly visible leather shoes circled the duo. Seemingly finished with his escapade, The Doctor flicked the devise out in length and began to read its results.

"You both seem to be five years younger than when I last saw you." The Doctor commented while knitting his brow. "OH! Of course!" The exclamation was highlighted by a powerful face-palm. "That is why you knew me when we first met, or rather when I first met you, because you are first meeting me now." A wide smile spread across the man's face as he spun around to the two men still taking up residence on the floor. "Don't you see? It's all rather wibbily-wobbily timey-whimey. Oh that's fun to say I haven't said that in ages wibbily-wobbily timey-whimey, wibbily-wobbily oh yes I miss that one!" The man was now smiling to himself triumphantly with his hands placed on his hips.

"Sorry, but I'm still going to go with drugged."

"Obviously John."

"Oh that's another thing," interjected The Doctor, "good news you're not actually drugged. At least not by anything that my sonic screwdriver can detect which is every substance in the known universe… well except for wood, but that shouldn't cause any hallucinogenic effects. Except of course if it was the bark of the Oozing Gladadines of Vennerup 5, but that is light years away. Though why you would want to eat lumber at all is beyond me; far too pulpy."

"That's exactly what a projection of our worried minds would want us to think" purred the dark haired man.

"For the last time I am real!"

"Hardly, you cannot exist as you are a walking improbability. Your face looks young, not older than thirty, but your eyes are that of someone who has lived a lifetime or more. You like to talk, and thrive on an audience, yet you seem to be alone. Now why would that be? Oh I see. You had cohorts recently; two in fact one of the ginger variety judging by the stray strand still clinging to your jacket, but you have freshly left them behind. You've seen a lot of loss in your life more than most, but these two did not die, no you made them leave. Why? Ah, sentiment, of course. You were afraid of losing them as well, wanted them to live a safe, normal live. Boring, but then being with you is anything but safe is it, Doctor? No, the wear on the tread of your shoes indicates that you perform a lot of running; more than the average human anyway, and I'm sure it's not for your cardiovascular health. Speaking of, your heart seems to be working double time, judging by the pulsation of the veins in your neck I would say you have a four beat pattern as opposed to the average two. This would indicate that you have a binary vascular system, which is simply not plausible. So as you see 'Doctor,'" Sherlock said with a sneer "you are not humanly possible, and thus cannot exist outside of my currently drug ridden psyche."

The room fell silent once the detective finished conveying his observations. John Watson's eyes were locked in awe on the logic driven younger man. Even after living together for two years he still found Sherlock to be absolutely brilliant. Suddenly remembering that there was another person (who was most likely a hallucination but there nonetheless) in the room John turned to face him and take in what he assumed would be a livid expression; however he was met with a surprise.

The Doctor's eyes sparkled as he gazed at the consulting detective. His smile had somehow grown wider, and took up a majority of his face. "Oh Mr. Holmes," he stated "you sir do not disappoint. You're good, really good, and brilliant too, but there are two things you missed. Two very important things"

"Oh, and what are those?"

"Well you're right. I'm not humanly possible, but that is because I'm not human, and as for the second well I'm clever. As a matter of fact I am even cleverer than you." The Doctor leaned back on his perch on the coffee table with a cocky grin.

The Doctor assumed he would insight an excited reaction from the raven haired man but in its place he revived an eye roll.

"Yes well that would be very interesting if you were real; however I am becoming bored and thankfully you will dissipate as soon as the drug is out of our systems which I would pin point at about… five hours at most. SO until then I would appreciate if you would shut up. Your existence has grown tedious."

"Fine you don't want to believe I'm here that's fine," The Doctor pouted like a child. He pushed himself off of the coffee table and crossed the living room back to his blue box still dwelling in the kitchen. A snap of his fingers caused the doors to burst open and the down trodden man was ready to leave Baker Street entirely, but suddenly stopped midstride. He turned back to the two men with a new glitter in his eye. "Five more hours you say? Well we might as well make it worth it; for scientific reasons of course. What would you say to a look around my TARDIS?"

"I'm sorry, your what?" Croaked John Watson suddenly realizing he had not spoken in what seemed like eons.

"My T.A.R.D.I.S" the man repeated patting the blue box "Time and Relative Dimension in Space. She is my space ship, and time machine."

"Preposterous," came a mumble from the carpet before the couch, "and what could we possibly scientifically learn from your 'TARDIS'." Sherlock threw in more air quotes; he seemed to be fancying them lately.

"Why the full effects of the drug! That would be very important for your current case, would it not?"

There was silence as Sherlock Holmes contemplated this for a moment. "Fine!" came a final huff as the man pulled himself into a standing position. Following his lead John stood as well, patting imaginary dust off the front of his jeans in the process.

"Wonderful!" proclaimed The Doctor leading the two men to the open door of the police box. "Oh and just some more thing," The Doctor partially vibrated with energy as he turned to face the flat mates whilst placing a hand on the TARDIS door, "Geronimo!"


End file.
